


Relearning the Steps

by veriante



Series: A Little Broken - Bondlock Verse [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondlock, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i overwrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-17 19:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2320892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriante/pseuds/veriante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond, leant down to capture the lips of his Quartermaster and felt himself drown in the sweetness for a moment before he could force himself to pull away. He opened his eyes slowly and looked into the deeply hooded eyes of Q and saw confusion barely flitting past the deep desires. </p><p>"Practicing your favourite dance are we?" His Quartermaster asked but James could read between the lines well enough. 'What are we?' the hazel eyes asked. 'Will you leave me as you did with all the others?' the soft skip of the heartbeat under his hand asked and James found himself leaning foward, even closer until their lips were brushing before he could find his voice. </p><p>"Relearning the steps I think." James muttered softly against the lips and felt the force of the hope go through him harshly as the breath against his lips. </p><p>"With improvements I hope." Q added into the kiss and despite the fear and the doubts, James surrendered. There never had been a choice really. </p><p>*****</p><p>After the events of the Oldest Dance, it isn't only just Q that needs to recover from his wounds. James learns a little about himself and his own hearts desires just as Sherlock learns just how far reaching the consequences are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the second installment. I know you had to wait for an awful long time and my sincerest apologies. Time is something that hasn't been in abundance and life has not been kind of late. Unfortunately, writing hasn't been the kind of vent that I needed during the times of difficulty but it is mostly over and apparently my muses have relocated me. 
> 
> As usual, criticisms are most welcome. Make them constructive though. WARNING: Unbetered! and yes~ to head of all those that would kindly remind me... English IS my second language and despite a degree in the damn thing I am yet to take grammar seriously and tenses are confusing as fuck. Apologies and I hope you can magmoniously ignore them still find enjoyment in my creations.

Chapter 1

 

09:45

21 November 2013

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

 

If it wasn't the stillness, that sound alone was enough to drive him insane, Q thought. There certainly was no need for the heart monitor to be so loud was there? Perhaps he could tinker it, just a little. Make the sound something a little more interesting maybe? Better not, Q thought as he looked down at his arm.

 

The doctors apparently didn't have any faith in his ability to leave the bloody thing alone and had completely trapped it against his chest. The pain was there, of course, but Q was used to pain and he was even more used to disengaging the physical discomforts from his body. But still, tinkering whilst under the influence of morphine was inadvisable, especially with only one working hand.

 

Hand.

 

Q looked down at his hand and frowned. He could have sworn that there had been another hand there. It felt like there should be another hand there. A warm, calloused, large hand holding his wrist in a firm but careful grasp. He could have sworn he had seen that when he had last opened his-

 

The panic rushed through Q's system and the heart monitor picked it up immediately with its incessant beeping. Q looked at that for a moment before he forced his body to sit up. The sharp pain to his shoulder was enough to break a gasp from his lips and to send the heart monitors into even more of a frenzy, but he couldn't stay. Not without-

 

What was it? What was it that he needed? Q questioned even as he struggled against the sheets and tried to swing his legs over the rails holding him prisoner on the bed. It didn't matter, Q thought. He would know. He would know when he saw it, but he couldn't stay. There was something just-

 

“You were prescribed bed rest Q.” The dry drawl of that familiar voice broke through the thin haze of panic and Q looked up, surprised. There. His instincts told him. There it was. No need to panic now. You found what you were looking for, his body told him. Q ignored all that, but his breathing calmed down and with it, the heart monitors.

 

007 stood at the doorway, leaning against the door frame in that way he does, a bottle of water slinging between two fingers in one hand and the other in his suit pocket. Did that man know how to dress casually at all? Q thought as he looked at the immaculate black suit. At least he didn't have a tie on.

 

There was some sort of commotion outside, but Q didn't pay them any heed. It didn't matter. Instead, he focused his attention on his legs dangling on the side of the railings and wondered how he was going to leverage himself back into the bed. Because as much as he had been desperate to get out of the bed, Q wanted back in, now that the panic had subsided.

 

“He is fine.” 007 said curtly and Q wondered mindlessly about the gender of the nurse or doctor that must have come after they saw his heart monitor. 007 was rarely curt with women. There was a reply of some sort from the other person, but it didn't matter because 007 walked into the room and closed the door behind himself.

 

“It is a little early for escape, don't you think?” He asked casually as he swaggered in that way of his into the room and stood next to the bed. Q shrugged his shoulder and regretted it immediately as the pain rushed through and he felt the black dots starting to form. He felt his body hitch forward, but that was okay because there was a warm body right there, catching him carefully on the other shoulder and lifting him bodily back into the bed.

 

By the time the dots began to fade, Q found himself tucked back into bed with the blankets covering his rather gangly legs and a warm hand wrapped firmly around his wrist. It felt like it belonged there. Like that was what he had been missing.

 

How long? He wondered. How long had James Bond been sitting there, holding his wrist? How long did it take for his body to think that it was a part of himself and that it was panic inducing to be without it?

 

“Ten minutes. I was gone for ten minutes Q.” James' voice answered and Q looked up at him, surprised. Had he spoken out aloud?

 

“I'm fine.” Q told him but even to him, his voice sounded odd, like it was drowning in water. James gave him a smile and nodded even as he reached up with another hand and ran those fingers through Q's curls, curls that no doubt required some washing.

 

“I know.” James replied, but there was something in his voice that told Q that James didn't believe a word of it. There was something. Something important that Q needed to think about, to question, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure it out. It felt as if all the cogs that ran within his brain had turned into jelly and nothing was quite working as it was and even with the frustration, it was impossible to ignore the pull of sleep.

 

“Go to sleep Q.” James said in a voice that Q didn't almost recognise. Not when it was spoken with that drawling voice of his. Warmth and concern with a hint of amusement. Q felt himself nodding even as he let his eyes close and felt himself drift off.

 

“You care.” Q mumbled and thought he heard a soft reply, but the darkness swallowed him too fast to remember.

 

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#

 

10:00

21 November 2013

 

Dr John Watson was clever, but he wasn't a genius. It meant that unlike Sherlock and his brothers, he experienced the normal amount of moments of confusion in the way the 'huddling masses' do. Unsurprisingly, knowing that did little to help him.

 

First of all, John wasn't quite sure what he was feeling or even what he was thinking. Sherlock was alive. That has come as a shock. Not a good shock or a bad one, but a shock and John wasn't quite sure if he had dealt with all the emotions from that. He wasn't even sure whether he was upset at Sherlock or not. No. Wait. He knew that one.

 

He _was_ upset. No. He was angry. Furious even. The pain and the grief wasn't a distant memory. It was still raw and despite the surprising outcome, the pain of it all was almost embedded into him and it was hard to remember that Sherlock was alive and still living with him. It almost felt like he was hallucinating and there was that perpetual fear that if he looked away for a moment, he would find himself in the empty apartment with the truth of Sherlock's death hanging over his head.

 

It probably _didn't_ help that he had spent the first day or so of Sherlock's death wishing and thinking exactly that.

 

Then there was that burning hot anger about being betrayed. No wait. It wasn't really betrayal really and John understood that. It was the idiot's way of trying to 'protect' him, no doubt. Sherlock hadn't wanted John to be in the line of fire and thought that if he disappeared, the threats to John would disappear with him. An action John had to think about. Would he have done the same thing if it meant he could save Sherlock?

 

The answer was horrifyingly simple. Yes. Even if it meant that he could never see the man again and never again feel that warmth and love, John was sure that he could abandon everything, sacrifice everything if it meant that the brilliant man he knew and loved could live. Be safe.

 

But he wanted to be selfish and scream at Sherlock that it wasn't the right choice. That Sherlock should have kept him there, to have taken John with him. It wasn't fair, but then emotions weren't logical, nor fair.

 

Then there was that whole mess with Tren- Alec Trevelyan. John wasn't quite sure if he felt guilt or shame or something along those lines about that. It was hard to recognise feelings for what it was because he felt like a complete mess. He knew that he had technically done the wrong thing. He had slept with someone other than the man he was involved with.

 

But the relief he had felt when he had drowned out his emotions in Alec's body and cried out the tears he would never admit to? That had almost felt too good for it to have been something bad. Oh he would feel guilty about that, of course. John knew that he would eventually beat himself up over the head with the whole thing, but for now, John wasn't sure if could regret it. Or more importantly, not need it or want it again.

 

God. John thought as he tried to steady his hands. The pain was back in his knee and on his shoulder and psychosomatic or not, it still hurt like a bitch. He sighed and buried his face in his hands just as he heard the soft click clacks of the door opening downstairs and the light feet travelling up the stairs. Sherlock was back.

 

“How was your brother?” John asked just as Sherlock hit the last step. Sherlock paused for a moment before he came through the door and John could see the need in those eyes. Raw, damned raw _need_ that John knew that he could not answer. He couldn't be what Sherlock wanted him to be yet. Everything wasn't anywhere near fine for that.

 

“High as a kite.” Sherlock answered and John didn't have to have Sherlock's abilities to hear the relief in that voice, nor miss the look of surprise and relief flashing through his eyes. Whilst Sherlock would never say it, John read 'I thought you might have left whilst I was gone' and 'I'm glad you didn't', in those eyes.

 

John kept watching him as Sherlock undid the scarf around his neck and hung it up and then hung up his coat and looked at John, his eyes full of insecurities and an emotion John wasn't quite sure if he could ever get used to seeing. Fear.

 

Sherlock, though he probably didn't know it himself, was terrified, John knew. Terrified that he would walk into the apartment one day and John would be gone. That he would never come back. It was that look, that fear, more than anything else, that made John stay. To _want_ to stay. Despite it all.

 

“Did he like the books?” John asked and Sherlock shrugged as he picked up the bundle of newspapers John had already gone through. Sherlock would tear them apart, if he stuck to his routine. He would look for inconsistencies and cases in them. But he didn't. He merely gathered them into a pile and put them on the side table before he sat down on his couch.

 

“Too drugged to notice.” Sherlock answered before he got up off the couch and began pacing, his hands gathered and his second fingers at his lips in a hushing motion. A self hushing emblem, psychologists would call it. The sign of someone that wanted to say something, but couldn't... wouldn't. John knew that he shouldn't ask, because he knew the answer, but he did anyway. He wanted to hear it from Sherlock's lips.

 

“Something bothering you?” He asked and regretted it immediately when Sherlock turned to look at him, the question he was about to ask and the answer John would give, already clearly laid out before them. The hurt was manifesting even before the words did.

 

“Yes. No. Yes. But you're not ready yet.” Sherlock said and John wanted to object, to yell at Sherlock for making that call, but he was right. Of course he was. Because even if he didn't understand human emotions, Sherlock knew them and knew the psychology of a human being better than anyone else. Sherlock paused his pacing for a moment and looked at John.

 

Really looked. They had spent majority of the last two days together and yet they hadn't really looked at each other, made eye contact in the ways that they always had before, as if they could read into each other's minds by simply looking. Sherlock looked, really looked into John's eyes before he turned them away and bowed his head in a way John wasn't sure if he had seen before. Defeat.

 

“And neither am I, I'm afraid.” Sherlock added before he flopped onto the couch and crossed his arms over his stomach in his usual thinking pose. John looked at him for a moment and understood what Sherlock was trying to say without words.

 

As much as there seemed to be a wall between the two of them, it was a see through wall. John still could read Sherlock from his actions and the little that he had said and John knew that Sherlock was still sharp as ever when it came to observing John. Despite it all, despite all that they had gone through if there was one thing that John was still certain of, it was that the genius loved him. That was a fundamental that John could not allow himself to doubt.

 

This was no doubt easy on Sherlock either and John knew that. Sherlock did not take emotional difficulties well, even when they were his own, or perhaps especially when they were his own and on top of it all, Sherlock was burdened with John's emotions too. The Consulting Detective was likely confused and since confusion usually led to more destructive methods of distraction if left for long periods, John was going to have to sort out his own mess fast and help Sherlock with his.

 

And there was only one person in John's sphere of friends that might have gone through something similar before. Fuck.

 

“I-” John opened his mouth even as he fiddled around with his phone and sent a quick text to a phone number that he was not supposed to have access to, just as Sherlock nodded his head and interrupted what John was about to say.

 

“I'll be here when you get back.” Sherlock said before John could ask. He might regret it later, John knew, but if he was going to put Sherlock and himself back together, he was going to need some expert advice. Advice that no psychologist could probably provide, no matter how much she charged by the hour.

 

 _If..._ they could be put together again that was.

 

*#*#*#*#

 


	2. Rosalind Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual warnings - No Beta and blatant disregard for grammar RULES... because they are RULES and not laws?

10:00am

21 November 2013

 

Mycroft Holmes looked at the pile of papers on his desk and wondered why he did this to himself. He could have left the whole mess of bringing Sherlock back to life, legally, up to Sherlock himself. If he could have any faith that his brilliant but irresponsible brother would do it for himself. Well, he wasn't really doing it for Sherlock, Mycroft reasoned. He was doing it for the good Doctor that really had enough to put up with.

 

Then there was the whole thing of Oscar getting shot. It left a bitter taste in Mycroft's mouth when he thought about that. A twisting feeling in his gut he recognised as fear. Sherlock certainly had that effect on Mycroft, but Oscar? Well that was something that Mycroft wasn't quite sure if he had been prepared for. Especially after the last time.

 

At least there was 007, Mycroft thought as he looked at the clearly labelled file that had been placed on his desk the night he had returned after a visit to his brother. It was a substantial file, one that Mycroft did not have time for, but he didn't need to. The brief overview was enough to tell him the most important thing. James Bond was _not_ the ideal partner material for his brother.

 

“Sir, you have a visitor.” Andrea's voice called through the intercom and Mycroft frowned. It was early in the morning and this was his usual paperwork time. He did not get disturbed for meetings until at least 11.

 

“I do not want any visi-” Mycroft began to say into the intercom when the door to his office burst open and his hand went straight to the gun he kept strapped to the underside of his desk.

 

“Sir! I couldn't stop-” Andrea began to apologise even as Mycroft saw who had walked in through the door, Andrea just behind. Mycroft felt himself sitting up straighter as he let go of the handle of the gun even though the cold metal would have offered some measure of control. He could see the way Andrea tensed immediately when she read his tension and fought to relax.

 

“It's alright Andrea.” Mycroft said as calmly as he could even as he stood up from his chair and looked at the person that had walked through the door. She was beautiful, as always. Her auburn curls were curled tastefully into a delicate bun and the dark red suit she wore was perfectly tailored to her shape as usual. The matching high heels clicked as she strode further into the room and eyed him critically for a moment.

 

“I hope you have a good explanation for this whole mess.” She stated as she walked right up to his desk and set gracefully down in one of the chairs facing his desk. Mycroft kept his eyes on her as was usual when she was in the room. Her presence was commanding and it was impossible to take his eyes off her, even to look at poor Andrea.

 

“Andrea, may I introduce Lady Rosalind Holmes, the Duchess of Baskerville?” Mycroft said as a way of introduction as his mother stood up with a graceful and indulgent nod and Andrea walked further into the room to shake her hand.

 

“Mother, I would like you to meet Andrea, my assistant.” Mycroft told her as the pleasantries were exchanged and he nodded for Andrea to leave. There was a question in her eyes, but Andrea did as he asked and left the room, though the door was left a little ajar. His mother, the ever beautiful and ever sharp Rosalind Holmes watched her go and nodded her approval.

 

“Mossad trained. Good. Effective protection. But...” Rosalind said with that calculating tone that Mycroft recognised straight away. It was odd, his relationship with Mother. He loved her and he knew that she loved him, just as any parent would. But with that love, there was a side that almost felt like a business relationship between the two of them. As much as they were mother and son, they were also Matriarch of the Holmes Family and the Hound of Baskerville.

 

“You did not fly overnight from Washington DC to talk about Andrea.” Mycroft finished for her and watched a twinkle of satisfaction and pride enter her eyes. She nodded solemnly and her eyes turned worried.

 

“No.” Rosalind said but stopped and looked at him. Really looked at him, like the way a mother should look at a child after a long year without them. Her eyes looked him up and down and the tell tale frown that she would never show anyone else, formed between her brows. Mycroft read her as he always did. Concern. Love.

 

“You look tired darling.” She said as she walked up to him and cupped his face with her hands. Her very small, but very deadly hands that have just begun to show her age. He lowered his head as was clearly desired by her and she gently stroked his hair and kissed him on the forehead.

 

“How are my darlings?” Rosalind Holmes asked and whilst Mycroft knew better than to expect that she had mellowed with her age, he did see the thinly veiled concern and affection. He vacantly wondered how much she knew, but dismissed the question immediately.

 

Despite her retirement, Rosalind was definitely still in the information game and he knew that she still had plenty of contacts, more than she probably had in her spy days, to pass her the information she desired. She no doubt knew everything that had taken place in the last couple of days, he surmised.

 

“Oscar is still in the Medical wing, as you no doubt have already heard. Sherlock is well and back at his flat with Dr Watson. Your grandchildren are well and coming along nicely.” He told her, though he knew that nothing would be news to her. She nodded and seemed to take comfort in the pleasantry before she looked at him with the steel back in her gaze.

 

“I must go and see to Oscar of course.” She said, but it was a precursor and Mycroft wished that he wasn't about to be berated for his actions or lack thereof. He knew that if Rosalind had been the Hound in his place, the whole mess would have been sorted and over and done with before it became the mess that it was. And he was berating himself enough that he really did not need his mother's criticism on top of that.

 

“You came here first for a reason mother. Shall we forego the usual dance?” Mycroft said and Rosalind's eyes crinkled in a genuine smile before she nodded and pulled out a folded envelope from her Mulberry bag. The smile slipped from her lips just as the envelope was handed to him.

 

“No doubt MI6 would already be aware of this, but this was a mess that involves you and I expect you to handle it. Or at the very least, oversee the handling of it.” Rosalind said with that tone of voice that said that she would not be disappointed. It was also a tone that Mycroft was well familiar with. The woman never failed to make him feel like a five year old child being chastised for being naughty. Mycroft ignored the discomfort that rose with a quirk of the eyebrows and nodded curtly to her.

 

“Of course mother. Shall I have a car brought around?” Mycroft asked, but he knew better. If Mother was back in London, enough to visit him, then her staff would be back as well and there was no doubt a driver waiting outside for her and no doubt, the flat on Downing Street would be aired out for her arrival.

 

“No need darling. I will head over the MI6 and see how Liby's replacement is. Gods I am going to miss that woman.” Rosalind commented offhandedly as she cupped his face again and kissed both sides of his face before she gave him a bright smile and walked away. Just as Mycroft could begin to relax though and consider warning Sherlock of Mother's arrival in London, her voice interrupted him.

 

“And darling? Do not dare to inform your brothers of my arrival. I miss surprising them.” He heard and found himself chuckling lightly as he leaned against his desk, tension draining out of him. Poor sods, he thought as he tried and failed to imagine just what would happen in the hospital room and that thought was enough to cheer him up.

 

*#*#*#*#*#*#

 

11:00am

21 November 2013

 

There were days when M felt awed of his own position in the job. It was one thing to have had his name pretty much redacted from history and left with a single letter, which was impressive enough. But to have _her_ in his office? It was almost ridiculous.

 

She had been a legend. An absolute and utter legend that he had only read about as a member of the Oversight Committee. Even then, most of the information about her had been so top secret that most of it had been redacted. But now? To have her in his office? It was awe inspiring.

 

“Lady Rosalind Holmes of Baskerville, sir.” Miss Moneypenny had said when the woman had forced herself into the room, her charisma and imperial air that demanded obedience, had made it impossible for even Moneypenny to stop her at the door as the Standard Operating Procedure dictated. Eve had braved following her though, to make the introduction and to add softly, “she insisted sir”. M had just smiled at her and dismissed her.

 

Rosalind Holmes, formerly known as 003, Agent Rosalind Yates, was as beautiful as she had been in the photographs contained in her personnel file. She was older, but she had aged gracefully and it added an air of formidable power that his predecessor had. Except, Rosalind Holmes wore hers more like a warm cloak rather than holding it out like a dagger as the previous M had done. That, more than anything else, made M wary of her. Deadly abilities of a spy, graces of a noble combined with the sharp political mind of a certified genius. She, was the definition of terrifying, M decided.

 

“How may I be of assistance?” M asked after the lady had settled herself in the guest chair, her legs folding gracefully to the side and her hands laid delicately on her lap. There was not a single strand of hair out of place and not a single speck of dust on her black suit, he noted with some discomfort.

 

“I suppose my condolences in the loss of your personnel is on order, as are congratulations on your newly acquired position.” Rosalind Holmes said and M felt his eyes narrow. He had expected her to be softer, to use more guile, but apparently, she chose to be sharp and her words and tone were almost enough to shake his quiet confidence.

 

“Thank you on both accounts, but surely you did not come all this way to pass on such sentiments?” M asked, keeping the poker face strong and keeping his voice firm but warm enough not to provoke a hostile response. Coincidentally, it was the same technique he used with his wife. Rosalind Holmes laughed softly and everything about her seemed to relax all of sudden.

 

“You will do.” Rosalind Holmes said and M felt himself surprised at the approval in that voice. No one else had known the previous M as well as Rosalind and to hear such from her? It was a powerful confidence booster, if nothing else. It was also a perfect way for her to build positive rapport with him. He felt his eyes narrow as he saw behind the mirth to the calculating eyes.

 

“You are right of course. I came here with an ulterior motive, some of which, you surely would have guessed by now.” Her eyes still laughed, though it was clear that it too was a part of her poker face. He had seen this before, he realised with a start. Rosalind Holmes and Olivia Mansfield _were_ cut from the same cloth. Same steely determination and resolve, fierce loyalty and strength of character with just enough humour to hold everything together. It was a powerful mix, he thought.

 

“I heard about the young Quartermaster and I, for one, have his best interest at heart.” Rosalind Holmes said and it was easy enough to read between the lines. Officially, there were no connections between the Quartermaster and Rosalind Holmes. But both M and 007, he presumed, knew the truth.

 

“Perhaps you would like to meet him? He is still recovering of course, but if you are interested, I could arrange a meeting.” M said. It was clear that despite the security of his office, Rosalind did not want to risk revealing her connection to the Quartermaster and as far as M was concerned, that was fine. Two could play at the game anyway.

 

“It would be nice to see how much everything has changed. If you don't mind.” Rosalind said and M moved without thinking too much about it. He stood up and gracefully, Rosalind rose too and he led her out of his office and towards the Medical Wing. It was only when they were waiting for the elevator that he remembered the order he had given 007 and the question that had formed in his own mind and the post it note he had passed onto Moneypenny for the Quartermaster.

 

“The game has changed but the need for good, strong and loyal personnel hasn't. Don't make the mistakes that Olivia did, Mr Mallory. Given them your loyalty and they will give you theirs. Just like respect, it does not travel in one direction.” Rosalind Holmes said once they were in the elevator and M found himself pausing with his finger over the button. He found himself meeting Rosalind's warm green eyes filled with amusement and wisdom. Unable to speak for the fear he would ask something ridiculous, he just nodded.

 

The elevator ride was short and the walk towards the high security section where Q was sequestered away was also short, but it was long enough for M to wonder about just how much Rosalind Holmes knew and just what her views may be on the situation. It was also just enough time for a thin veil of nervous to break out under M's expensive, perfectly tailored Italian suit.

 

*#*#*#*#*#*#  


	3. Chapter 3

11:30am

21 November 2013

  


It was a chilly day. Well no, given that it was dead smack bang in the middle of winter, it was freezing. But after a day spent in the artificial warmth of the new MI6 building and breathing the lukewarm air, it was refreshing and almost enjoyable, Alec thought as he strode through the streets quickly towards his destination.

  


He had to admit, he felt a little... confused more than anything else by the text message he had received on one of those phones the Q Branch had given him as a 'private phone' that was apparently secure, but not quite secure enough for work. He hadn't even thought that he would get a message or any contact at all from the former army doctor, but he had to admit, he was pleasantly surprised by it.

  


'I need to see you. I need help. JW' The message had read and the length of it as well as the perfect punctuation had stopped the instinctive panic that tended to rise when words 'need help' usually pops up on a screen for those in his profession, but Alec couldn't help the concern that had risen.

  


The last time he had seen the doctor, the man had been broken in his arms after what he had to admit was rather fantastic sex. But he, like the doctor, had understood that the sex had been a tool for the emotions to work themselves out and Alec had to admit, it had worked rather brilliantly well and he had thought that the doctor had worked out the anger and the emotional loss he had suffered as a result of his partner's apparent death.

  


Alec could taste the sweet bitterness in his mouth at the memory. If he wasn't what he was, if he hadn't been there under false pretences, he knew that he and John could have been something special. No. Not just special, spectacular. The three months he had spent with John and his unit held something of a special place in his heart and it was a place that Alec had visited many a lonely nights.

  


As unassuming as John was, there had been something so irresistable about him that had pulled Alec in even before he had recognised it and now, the opportunities that may have been present, were long gone. A less intuitive man would have thought that with the former army doctor in such a vulnerable position, it may be the perfect opportunity for someone to swoop in. As it was, Alec was smarter than that. More, he knew true vulnerabilities in relationships and recognised it as easily as breathing. There were no such vulnerabilities in that relationship.

  


Alec thought that it should be disappointing, that realisation, but he found himself more... comforted, oddly enough. John Watson was someone he had given up. Alec had allowed the other man to walk away, denied himself contact when he could have easily continued on the farce, because he knew that the other man deserved better and despite it all, despite all the pain that the Sherlock fellow had clearly put the doctor through, the true strength of love? That was real and Alec knew that he couldn't give the same to the doctor. Not in the way John deserved.

  


It still didn't mean that everything could be smoothed over and that there would be no pain, Alec noted as his eyes found the doctor seated at the bench specified, underneath a magnificent cherry tree. Hardly the norm in a London park, but recognisable and thus, formed a good meeting place. The park was almost deserted with the cold, but it made the form of the doctor that much... more.

  


More contemplative, more picturesque, even. All in all though, Alec couldn't help himself but stop to drink in the sight before his eyes. John wasn't what most people would consider to be a looker. But, Alec found him irresistible, as most people that got to know the man, did. There was that mix of odd unassuming charisma, warmth and yet just enough of a hint of deadly air about him that made Alec's heart skip a beat. He had it bad, he thought and the temptation to do the wrong thing tried to grab him again.

  


Alec made his feet carry him the rest of the way to the bench and sat down next to the doctor and overlaid his warm hand, fresh out of his coat pocket over the cold, frozen hand of the doctor. The other man didn't react for some time and Alec didn't expect him to. The two of them sat in companionable silence as the doctor's hand warmed under his and his cooled in the winter air. It was only when their temperatures were almost the same that John seemed to rouse himself from his thoughts to consider his companion.

  


“Thank you for coming.” John said quietly and there was so much pain and so much sorrow in that voice that Alec felt his own heart break. The heat of their rut in the medical wing had somehow re-woken his desires for this man, but it wasn't hard to hold such thoughts back in the face of John's pain.

  


“It is always a pleasure to catch up with an old friend.” Alec said with a tone that was just warm enough to be friendly and supportive without judgements. Oh, he wanted to judge. He wanted to rave on and on about how he hadn't let John slip though the cracks of his espionage career to have his heart broken. He wanted to rant on about how Sherlock Holmes wasn't treating him right and that the doctor deserved to be happy, but that wasn't his place.

  


“I- I don't know what to do.” John said and Alec tried not to let his heart break over the devastation and confusion in that voice. Instead, Alec just moved closer until he could change the hand holding John's with his left hand and wrap his right arm around the other's shoulders to pull him closer to himself.

  


“What do you need John?” Alec asked softly and John seemed to be surprised by the question and he looked up and their eyes met. John continued to look at him for a long moment before he closed his eyes, swallowed and folded himself into Alec's embrace. Alec held him tightly as John's mumbles made their way to his ears.

  


“I should be happy. He's alive. That's all I wanted when I thought he was gone, but he was alive Alec and he put me through hell. I- I can't! I can't go through that again. I did it once and I don't think I can ever go through something like that again.” John said and Alec had to admit that the fear wasn't new to him. Except, for John, it probably was.

 

Alec lived in a world where people died. He had lovers, friends and even people that could have formed the centre of his world, perish. But he had to admit, he had never had anyone as special to him as Sherlock was clearly to John, die on him. Still, he could understand the fear and the pain. John was more terrified of the thought of going through the loss again because he knew precisely what the loss felt like now. That was understandable.

  


“Why do you think you would have to? Sherlock is a clever, clever man John. He can keep himself out of danger well enough and you know that you would be there to protect him. You cannot let fear hold you back from the things you love.” Alec found himself saying, though he knew that it wasn't that easy and it was likely something that John knew for himself.

  


“Do you love him still?” Alec asked, though he knew the answer to the question. He could feel the fine trembles through John and knew that he was very close to having another break down. Alec also had a feeling that there would be quite a few more of these before the ordeal was over and the doctor could be back to 'normal', whatever 'normal' was for an ex-veteran in love with a brilliant genius was.

  


“I can't _breathe_ without him let alone _live_ without him! I'm fucking terrified that it's going to hurt as much as it did because of how _much_ I love him and I don't _want_ to love him that much. Not any more. I don't want the pain any more.” John said and Alec felt his eyes close and his right fist clench. Sherlock Holmes had done quite a number, he thought.

  


“But that's the problem isn't it John? You can't stop loving him.” Alec didn't even bother to frame it into a question because he knew that it wasn't one. John had always been a loyal, devoted man. He knew for a fact that John would never and _could_ never find someone else to love now. And love, once it was there, was impossible to take back. The fear? Well, that clearly formed a part of that love now.

  


John pulled himself away from Alec's embrace and when their eyes met, shook his head minutely. Alec found himself smiling at the gesture and let go of John's hand so that he could cup John's face with his own.

  


“Then there's only one question you need to answer John. Do you fear the pain of losing him as much as the pain of living without him?” Alec asked and he could see the way the words sunk into John. In essence, it was exactly the same thing, but John knew what the difference was and Alec could see it by the way John's eyes rapidly calculated his own emotions. John looked so confused and so hurt that Alec couldn't help the next move.

  


Without his own conscious mind, Alec moved forward and gently kissed John, his left hand caressing the army doctor's face gently as he did so. John didn't protest at the kiss, but allowed it. He was being selfish of course, taking advantage of John in a time where he was so vulnerable, but it was impossible to resist. John kissed him back gently and it never went past gentle, but Alec found himself satisfied when he pulled back and kissed John's teary eyes and his forehead. He leaned his forehead against John for a moment and met his eyes before he spoke.

  


“I loved you enough to let you go John and I love you enough now to let you go again.” Alec said and watched as the doctor's eyes widened with the surprise of the emotions Alec couldn't help but put into the words. If only John didn't love the other man so much, Alec almost thought, but knew better of it as he kissed John again softly before he moved back and stood up, putting some distance between themselves.

  


“But John?” Alec said and waited until John had snapped out of his thoughts enough to look up at him before he continued with a smile, as wistful as it was.

 

“I won't be able to let you go a third time.” Alec said and walked away before John could stop him and question his statement. John Watson, he thought. Even raw and broken as he was, John Watson was near impossible to resist. And that? That was a dangerous temptation.

  


*#*#*#*#*#*#*#

  


11:30am

21 November 2013

  


The steady beeping of the heart monitors told him that the Quartermaster was asleep. With the morphine acting as much like a sedative as no doubt his own exhaustion and the blood loss did, it wasn't a surprise to have the Quartermaster spend majority of the time sleeping. It was, however, a surprise that James Bond, the 00 most likely to escape from Medical as soon as possible, found it impossible to leave.

  


It wasn't a matter of security any more. Sure enough, there still was that pesky issue of a mole to take care of, but there were people that he trusted implicitly to look after the Quartermaster if he was inclined to leave. As it was, James found it impossible to. In fact, he found it difficult to even take his hand away from where it was curled around the Quartermasters' wrist, feeling the beat of his heart, despite what the heart monitor could tell him.

  


He also found it impossible to look away from the young man's peaceful sleeping countenance and he found his other hand moving to occasionally run a finger through the young man's curls and though the physical touches, especially when the Quartermaster wasn't awake to see it, was possibly a violation of his person, James found it impossible to stop.

  


For now, they were in a cocoon and James understood that. For now, there were no difficult questions about what he was doing and what the Quartermaster meant to him. But eventually, when the young man was awake and actually conscious for more than half an hour, he would ask the questions and James would be forced to answer. Except, he wasn't quite sure if he had a satisfactory answer to give. In fact, he was quite sure that he did not have one at all.

  


James was no idiot though. He knew that the irrational need to keep the young man in his sights, the unbearable anger that had risen time and time again when he realised that someone had laid hands on Q, his Quartermaster and hurt him, coupled with his almost fanatical desire to protect him, that he thought of the Quartermaster as someone entirely different to any other person he had met in his life, but just what? That James had problems with.

  


It was going to take time, James surmised. Time for him to wean himself off of his rather strong dependence on the young man and the need to keep him within his sights at all times. It would also take time for both of them to regain some form of equilibrium, but they would eventually and he would have to also wean the Quartermaster off of him too. The memories of a younger version of his Quartermaster, beyond broken by his ordeal and clinging to him as if life depended on it and the broken cries of his name was strong in his mind now that it had been dredged up.

  


That, made it easy to see why the Quartermaster had trusted him and why the Quartermaster never considered him a threat, but that had to change too. James wasn't a safe person. No matter what their feelings may be and no matter how strong the sexual attraction may be, the Quartermaster's feelings towards him was unwise and it would be his job, his duty to the Quartermaster to discontinue them immediately. Even if it meant that he would lose that warmth.

  


It wouldn't be too hard either, James started to think just as he heard footsteps, a male wearing loafers and a female wearing heels, stop just outside of the room. James felt himself tense and his hand went to his waist, where the familiar weight of the Walter greeted him. James curled his fingers around the butt and heard the soft whirring of the palm encoder recognising him and activate the firearm. He didn't let go of his hand on the Quartermaster's wrist though.

  


“Stand down 009.” He heard outside of the door and the familiar nature of that voice didn't quite let the tension fade from his shoulders, but it did allow him to uncurl his hand from the firearm. James had just enough time to lower his jacket to cover the firearm before the door opened and admitted M and a female that he instantly recognised. His hand still refused to let go.

  


“007.” M acknowledged with what was supposed to be a casual tone, but James could hear the tension in that voice and it did little to lessen his own. Even though he recognised the female that was with him, James found it impossible not to regard her as a threat.

  


“Sir. Lady Holmes.” James said as he stood up to acknowledge them. He looked at M and the stiffness of his shoulders and the pointed look at James' hand on the Quartermaster's wrist, but it did little to dissuade him. As it was, James wasn't sure if he could let go, even if the heart monitor would tell him of any changes.

  


“Ah. The famed 007. I have heard a great deal about your exploits over the years. Condolences on the loss of Olivia Mansfield. She was a dear friend of mine and her loss must have been terrible for you.” Rosalind Yat- Holmes, said with a tone that was laden with implications. James found it impossible to focus on that when Rosalind's eyes focused on his hand holding the Quartermaster's wrist and seemed to note it before she moved on.

  


Rosalind Holmes walked further into the room and went around to the other side of the bed and everything about her movement was calculated to ensure that it would not raise any protective instincts from him, he realised. She moved to ensure that her heels clicked as she moved and her movements were slow. All the rumours of her prowess as a 00 had been true, James noted numbly as she settled herself on the other side of the Quartermaster's bed.

  


“Ho- how bad is his condition?” Rosalind asked and it was impossible to ignore the emotion in the softly voiced enquiry. James found himself unable to take his eyes away from her concerned hazel eye as she looked down at her son and he found himself relaxing a little, though it was impossible to completely let his guard down.

  


“If there are no complications, he should be released from here in about a week. The surgery was very successful, but as you may be aware, he had suffered some blood loss and there are concerns for infection.” James found himself answering before M could. He constantly quizzed the doctors and with his own experience to draw upon, it wasn't hard to answer the question. He saw the way Rosalind look up at him though and felt as if his soul was being bared in front of her.

  


“I see. It will take at least another 3 months before he could use the arm without discomfort, at the very least, I assume.” She said and despite the clipped tone, James could see the concern, worry and relief dripping from it and the moisture gathering at her eyes was a dead give away. International spy of infamy or not, Rosalind was a mother and apparently, the pain of seeing her child in a hospital bed such as it were, was enough to break through her barriers and poker faces. James found himself liking her for that.

  


“He will be taken care of ma'am.” M said quietly, but Rosalind didn't look at him, she focused her eyes on James and he felt himself stand up a little straighter under her scrutiny.

  


“Of course he will. I expect no less. He is a valuable asset to MI6 and to the British Government. But a young man as young as he is does not enjoy confinement or restrictions. It will be a difficult recovery period for him, I imagine.” Rosalind said and the way she looked at James made it clear she knew exactly who was to blame for the incident and just what she expected. He nodded curtly.

  


“He will be given the best security of course. 007 has already been assigned to the role and I assure you ma'am. He will not fail.” _this time_ , James heard in M's voice, but he didn't let himself flinch. It was his cock up and he was going to deal with it as he did always, by fixing the situation, even if it meant that he would have to babysit the Quartermaster and even if it meant that at a later stage, it would make the detachment near impossible.

  


“I have no doubts.” Rosalind said in a distracted manner as she leaned down and kissed the Quartermaster firmly on the forehead and stroked his hair and face with gentle touches that spoke volumes of her love for him. When Rosalind looked up again, he had no doubt that she recognised him and had connected the dots.

  


“Twice now isn't it? That you have saved him and he had chosen you.” Rosalind said and there was a thoughtful nature to her tone that made him wonder just what she thought of their relationship, or lack thereof. James had a feeling that he would soon find out and that it may not be pleasant when he did.

  


“Lets hope the Quartermaster is as good at reading people as he is with technology.” Rosalind said as she moved away from the bed and began to walk towards the door leading out of the room. Surprised, M moved too, but Rosalind stopped just before opening the door for herself and looked back at James. She didn't say anything but by the time she opened the door and walked out, M following behind her, James had a feeling that a conversation had taken place and that he had missed it.

  


Regardless, the Quartermaster's pulse beat hard and strong against his fingertips and that was enough to drain all the tension from him. For now, at least. For now... that was enough to focus on.

  


*#*#*#*#*#*#*#

  



	4. Chapter 4

13:00

25 November 2013

 

Moneypenny opened the door to the Quartermaster's room and fought the sigh that rose automatically. Two days ago when the Quartermaster had gained the ability to stay awake for more than a couple of minutes, he had demanded that the 00s help him set up a computer system in the room and now? It looked as if the Fishbowl had moved from the Q Branch, up to the Quartermaster's room.

 

The young man didn't know when to slow down and rest up, Moneypenny thought as she looked around and resisted the sigh. The multiple screens connected to multiple computers, controlled by the single wireless keyboard, hadn't been that difficult to set up, even without the intervention from the Q Branch. The wireless keyboard right now though, laying on the bedside table and the numerous screens were muted to show that they hadn't been active for some time.

 

The Quartermaster in question, was clearly in another one of his exhausted sleeps. His stamina had always been kept up through the strength of his will alone and apparently morphine and the lingering effects of blood loss interfered with that. It probably hadn't helped that the young man had never been the picture of health, Moneypenny surmised as she leaned against the wall and let her eyebrow rise.

 

Finding the Quartermaster sleeping wasn't a surprise and seeing that she helped to organise the damn computers? That wasn't a surprise either. What was an infinite surprise though, was just how the Quartermaster was sleeping. More importantly... on _who_. The Quartermaster's bed was slightly raised but the young man was resting more on 007 than on the bed itself. The young man's head of auburn curls lay directly over James Bonds' heart and the 00 agent had his arm around the young man's shoulder whilst the other held the wrist of the other.

 

They were both dressed and it was clear that nothing inappropriate took place, but Moneypenny had to admit that despite the note from M, which she still hadn't been able to pass on, she had never thought that she would see the day when 007 would deign to be someone's pillow.

 

“M nailed it, didn't he?” Moneypenny said as she walked closer, speaking as softly as possible and still be heard. 007 frowned and let his displeasure show on his face, but he didn't make a single movement. On the contrary, when the Quartermaster seemed to stir, he moved his arm to gently pat the young man's hair until he fell back to sleep. Moneypenny couldn't help the eyebrow raise at that.

 

“He did give you to Q to use you however he saw fit.” Moneypenny said with a tongue and cheek expression and before the 00 could do anything, walked away from the bed. She would pay for that later, she knew, but it was worth it to see the confusion clear in James' eyes and also to see the annoyance when he realised that he had been caught in such a vulnerable position.

 

“He needs to sleep.” James Bond said quietly, so quietly that she almost missed it, but the tone held enough warning for her to put her hands up in surrender and move back towards her door, her heels barely making a single click on the floor.

 

“Nothing to shoot someone over.” She said with tongue and cheek, but it wasn't hard to see that he wasn't in the mood for that. But then, this James Bond wasn't the James Bond that she had known over the years. There was a steely resolve about him, that was normal, but it was coupled with an odd vulnerability that Moneypenny realised that she didn't quite know how to react to. Something that no doubt would need handling later on, she realised, but not now. Now? The best that she could do was file the information away and walk out before something drastic could take place.

 

“He doesn't need me.” Moneypenny heard just as she was opening the door and it took far too much effort to just walk out of the room as if she didn't hear the words. It was amazement enough to hear that hint of doubt in a 00's voice. To hear it mixed with an odd affection and a hint of fear? That, was enough for Moneypenny to close the door and lean on it for a moment.

 

She didn't know just what it was that drew the two of them together, but there was something there and that something, was powerful and palpable enough that the tension between them had always had the Q Branch fascinated. But this? Moneypenny had to wonder if the two of them could make it through it. All in time, she decided as she took a deep breath and walked away from the room and the utter drama and confusion that was likely to follow.

 

*#*#*#*#*#

 

20:25

25 November 2013

 

John looked over the contents of his blog and the blank space waiting for him to fill. Except there were no new cases and there were no developments. He had more or less shut everyone out of the blog other than his friends anyway, so the contents wouldn't matter as much and the need to write something was there, but he didn't know what.

 

The confusion that seemed to have taken over every other emotion in his mind was still strong and refusing to leave. It wasn't something that was easy to work out either. His chat with Alec had ended with more questions than answers. But they were questions worth considering, at least.

 

“Chinese?” Sherlock's voice asked from just outside of their living room and John looked up from the computer for a moment and felt his heart skip a beat when he saw his flatmate and the man he loved. Except the skip wasn't just about seeing his Sherlock standing there looking devastatingly beautiful any more. There was a palpable fear that he would disappear as all the other hallucinations did _after_. The fear seized his heart and before he knew it, John was moving.

 

He moved as fast as he could with the pain that seemed to have returned to his leg until he stood in front of Sherlock. He saw the pain etching themselves into Sherlock's face at his limp, but he couldn't focus on it. All he could do was reach out a shaking hand until he could touch that face for himself, to feel the slightly chilled skin of Sherlock's skin under his fingertips and feel the soft texture there.

 

Sherlock closed his eyes when John's hand touched him, but that wasn't what he needed. He needed to see the sharp hazel eyes looking into his own and John must have voiced it somehow because Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he met John's eyes with eyes that had always been more expressive than his face itself. There was pain there, as was overwhelming affection and love. John felt a whimper escape his lips and before he knew it, Sherlock's lips were against his, hard and demanding.

 

“Oh God.” John managed to gasp as he threw himself into the kiss. He threw his arms around the other man's neck and pulled him impossibly close, as close as they could get with their height difference and the clothes between them. The kiss was harsh and desperate in ways their kisses rarely were, but the strength of it reinforced the fact that Sherlock was there and that it was real.

 

When they did manage to pull away, Sherlock seemed to understand, of course he did, John thought, when Sherlock opened his coat up so that John could nestle himself closer to the other man, to soak in that human warmth. Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around John and John allowed his forehead to rest against the other man's collar bone and let his whole body feel the warmth holding him and the heartbeat of his lover to calm him.

 

“You're here.” John found himself breathing and even as the words escaped his lips, he almost expected Sherlock to berate him for stating the obvious, but all that came was the feeling of Sherlock's heart speeding up and tightening of his arms around John. John let himself relax into that embrace and was surprised when he heard the rumbling against his ear of a pained noise escaping from Sherlock. It wasn't a word and it wasn't really a groan. It was the kind of sound a wounded animal made. John didn't look up. Sherlock's tight arms around him made it impossible anyway, but John also knew that Sherlock wouldn't want John to see him in such a vulnerable moment.

 

“Oh God John.” Sherlock did say at long last, but John ignored it. The pain in that voice was as plain as no doubt the pain in his voice was, but unfortunately, John knew that he did not have the capacity to worry about Sherlock's pain right now. The fear and the dread was overwhelming that he couldn't think about anything else and luckily, whilst he was nestled in Sherlock's arms, he didn't have to.

 

*#*#*#*#*#*#*

 

22:50

25 November 2013

 

Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective and genius by anyone's standards, found himself at a loss. He had slept more in the last couple of days than he had probably in the last year and he found himself unable to keep his eyes closed, even to allow ideas to percolate. In fact, he found himself unable to focus on any of the experiments or even the small cases that had come through the internet.

 

In fact, the only thing that Sherlock could focus on in that moment and indeed for the last couple of days, has been John Watson. He was the biggest puzzle that Sherlock had come across. He had always been. From the moment they had met, John had been an absolute enigma that continued to fascinate and surprise Sherlock in a way that no one else had. As John had told him once, it helped that he found John fascinating enough from the beginning to actually try to figure everything out, unlike all the other bumbling members of the population.

 

Usually, thinking about John was a good thing. Sherlock usually thought about what John's response would be to an outrageous sexual position or what his reaction would be if Sherlock took him to dinner in that Japanese restaurant that John had been curious about. But lately, all the thoughts he had about John were filled with... pain. It felt like a punch to his stomach every time he saw John's eyes when he entered the room. Eyes filled at first with disbelief, then pain and panic. It wasn't hard to read between the lines.

 

Mycroft had been rather pointed when he handed Sherlock the medical files that were clearly privileged. Emotional break down, the paperwork had read, manifested physically by malnutrition and exhaustion and psychologically as severe depression and hallucinations. It wasn't hard to see what the hallucinations were. Severe grief could trick the mind, in a way to bring false comfort, to see the loved ones in the familiar spaces. But John had seen those hallucinations of him and had been heartbroken over and over again when he realised that he hadn't been real.

 

Hence the apprehension, Sherlock noted with distaste. The self hatred was almost impossible to bear, just as was the almost physical pain in seeing that reaction from John and knowing that he was the cause. Even now, Sherlock noted absently, John was unable to let go of the physical reminder of Sherlock's continued existence.

 

They were in Sherlock's bed, which Sherlock observed on his return, had been left exactly as he had left it when he had left, as if John hadn't been able to bear the idea of moving a single thing. Sherlock lay with two pillows supporting his head in an inclined position and John lay over him, his arm wrapped securely wrapped around Sherlock's waist, even though the position was surely uncomfortable for the other man.

 

It had taken some time for John to fall sleep and it was clear that it was exhausted sleep. Sherlock had a feeling that if John hadn't been at the end of his ropes, he would have stayed awake just to hold onto Sherlock, to ensure that his nightmares weren't real. It has been the way they found themselves in bed for the last couple of nights and Sherlock knew that it would continue for some time before John felt secure in his continuing existence.

 

It was utterly frustrating, he noted. John was in pain and hurting more than he had ever done before, but there was nothing that Sherlock could do, except hold the other man when he needed it and reassure him. For all his genius, there was so little that he could do and that, more than anything else was devastating. But there had to be something that someone could do, Sherlock thought and with that in mind, reached for the phone on the bedside table.

 

Use only in an emergency, he had been told, but Sherlock figured that it was a wide definition anyway and the other man wouldn't mind too much. He checked that John was in deep REM sleep before he dared to unlock the phone and dial the number he had memorised. The phone answered on the second ring tone.

 

“I take it that Oscar is asleep then.” Sherlock said softly into the phone and wasn't surprised to hear the sharp intake of breath on the other end. It was likely that the agent was either in bed with his baby brother, or he was standing nearby and feared that the soft ring tone would disturb him, hence the pick up without checking who it was, Sherlock surmised.

 

“How can I help you Sherlock.” The other man said but there was thinly veiled hostility in his voice that Sherlock had to admit, he was rather surprised to hear. The sigh that came after that though said more than the words and the tone. The man wasn't angry at Sherlock. He was angry at himself and the confusion was clear enough to hear.

 

For the first time in a very long time, Sherlock felt as if he had found someone in the same position as himself. The guilt was palpable in the other man's voice, the hostility probably aimed at himself more than towards Sherlock. The other man was probably just as conflicted as Sherlock was, he realised and it somehow made it easier to make the request.

 

“Despite the clear advantage I have over you in terms of intellect, I fear I'm in a position to request your assistance.” Sherlock found himself saying and it didn't hurt his pride as much as he thought it might to ask for help, though it was hard to keep the request completely civil still. He rarely did and the times he had, it had been something truly dire, as this situation no doubt was, he reasoned. There was silence at the other end for some time before the agent answered.

 

“Assistance isn't what you require Mr Holmes. It's time.” The 00 agent said and Sherlock closed his eyes as the other man's exasperated voice made its way through his overworked brain. He wasn't surprised that the 00 seemed to know what the nature of his question was before he voiced it. The other man _was_ a 00 and clearly used to solving difficult questions of no doubt emotional nature.

 

And he was right. Time was probably the only thing that would lessen John's fears and to assure him that Sherlock wasn't about to disappear again, except he feared that he didn't have as much as he required. What if John left? What if the fear and the pain got too much and John broke? Sherlock could feel his own fears rise. Despite that though, it hadn't been hard to hear the helplessness in the other man's voice and the deductions flew in his mind, grateful for the distraction.

 

“And what of you?” Sherlock found himself asking. He had thought that it was odd from the moment he had laid his eyes upon the other agent. It being his first interaction with someone of his calibre, Sherlock had simply observed the other man, but when Alec Trevelyan had joined in, it was plain as day that the way that James Bond treated his brother was nothing like what a 00 usually treated their assets.

 

In fact, Sherlock, as obtuse as he allegedly was when it came to human emotion, saw the affection as clear as the day in the eyes and motions of the other man. Actually, if Sherlock was a wagering man, he knew that any other person seeing their interactions, would have judged them to be in a relationship. A deep, loving relationship at that. But the hesitation was clear on the agent's side of the equation. Oscar, Sherlock knew, was a foregone conclusion. It had been from the moment Oscar had decided to join MI6 and was reunited with the 00 agent.

 

“Transference. That's all it is. Your brother sees me as a safe, as protection because that's what I gave him 10 years ago and that's what I give him now. Nothing else.” The stern voice of James Bond replied and Sherlock felt himself smirk a little. Idiot, he thought, but understandable. He had thought the same when John had first expressed his interest in him. It hadn't lasted long though and he doubted it would last long now, if Oscar decided to put his mind to it.

 

“Oscar chose you. I doubt he will give you a choice.” Sherlock found himself saying and despite the lack of a solution provided for his own situation, Sherlock found the conversation relaxing. It helped the put the constant buzz of worrying over John to rest and for that, he had to admit that he was grateful.

 

“I'm not permanent. I'm expandable. I am not what he needs.” James Bond said and Sherlock wished that he could argue with that statement, but the same doubt was in his own mind and he couldn't quite make himself say it. John deserved better and Sherlock wished that he could be unselfish enough to let him go. As it was, he couldn't. Not now. Not again. He had tried to give up John once and that was enough. He couldn't do it again and he knew that if a hell existed, he would be going to it for it, but he found that he couldn't give a damn, not if he could have John for the rest of his life. He would welcome he burning fires.

 

“Then be when he needs Mr Bond.” Sherlock found himself saying and before the agent could say anything else, hung up the phone. John was starting to stir and anyway, the agent was unlikely to be able to say anything back to that. But it was time he took his own advice, Sherlock decided as he cradled John's head closer and kissed his forehead gently.

 

*#*#*#*#*#*#


	5. Chapter 5

09:45

30 November 2013

 

Q found it impossible to stop smiling. The pain was still an annoying reminder of the whole being shot experience, but it was bearable now and excepting the fact that he couldn't quite use one of his arms, it was almost back to normal. Okay, so his brain was still a little fuzzy from the pain killers and the perpetual weakness that apparently accompanied significant blood loss was there, but he was being released and being allowed to go back to his own home and for that, he could not be anything else but grateful.

 

Despite it not being an actual hospital, the medical wing of MI6 had all the makings of it, like the bland walls, the countless nurses and doctors coming through to 'treat' him and the typical smells of a hospital ward had him going stir crazy. Even though his typical days were 16 hour days spent indoors, being forced to stay in bed all day and restricted to simple movements for rehabilitation, was enough to drive him to insanity.

 

“Have you got everything?” 006 asked with cheer that was uncharacteristic of him and Q felt his eyebrows rise and all he got in return was his cheeky smile in return. At his look though, Q had a feeling that even if he wasn't the patient himself, 006 hated medical and just wanted out. Q shook his head lightly and sighed as he pointed to the bag sitting at the entrance of the room. James had packed everything in the morning but during the last check up, he had disappeared, 006 seamlessly taking his place.

 

“I don't think James forgot anything.” Q said in reply as he hopped down from the bed as slowly and as gently as he could. Each movement was a keen reminder that there had been a hole left in his left shoulder and that if he hadn't been wearing his bulletproof vest, his whole arm, at the very least, would have been a lost cause. He shuddered at the thought for a moment before he recovered himself and looked pointedly at 006.

 

“So, _James_ is it now?” 006 said and Q had to fight against the intuitive flush and the need to avoid eye contact. He ignored all those instincts and looked him squarely in the eye and just raised an eyebrow in question and the two of them made eye contact for a moment or two before 006 gave in first.

 

“Okay okay. So back home then. How long you are allowed back to your playground?” 006 asked and this time, Q really did have reasons to sigh. Medically, he was fit to work at least part days from next week, but with the mole in place, it was decided that MI6 was too dangerous for an asset like him and M, allegedly had decided that he would not be returning until all the information he had managed to get of Moriarty's network was decrypted and they could conduct a full clean up. All in all, it meant that he was under house arrest with at least a 00 at all times on close guard and others ensuring that his building remained trap free.

 

“Three weeks to a month, depending on how my rehab goes.” Q said as he looked around one last time and readjusted the glasses on his face before he began to walk to the door. He wasn't surprised to find 006 moving to pick up his bag with his left hand. Agents, active or not, preferred to keep their gun hands free, Q observed as the 00 agent walked ahead and ensured that he was the one that opened the door, covering Q from the view of the door with his own body. Ridiculous, Q thought but didn't say anything.

 

“Fantastic. That means I'm going to be home long enough to actually do grocery shopping.” The 00 agent said and Q fought the urge to roll his eyes. The note he had got from M as well as the strong implications he had received from Moneypenny made it clear that 007 would be providing pretty much 24 hour protection, but he hadn't counted on 006 and 009 tagging along for the ride. Apparently, they had deemed him valuable enough for three 00s to work protection, though it wasn't around the clock and he knew that there would be plenty of other work in Europe, not to mention acting on his information when he managed to get it.

 

“I wouldn't get too comfortable, _Alec_.” Q said with a pointed edge on the name and 006 chuckled lightly as they walked down the hallway and straight into the elevator. With the corridors of MI6 usually filled with people running about with files and other more questionable items, Q found his eyes narrow when they didn't come across a single person. In fact, even the cameras were dead, if the lack of movement was any indication.

 

“We cleared the hallways and the elevator. We also killed the cameras to ensure that your movements would be unknown.” 006 said quietly and this time, all the humour was gone from his voice. They were taking the threat to his person _deadly_ serious, Q realised and didn't say a word as they made their way into the elevator, both 006 and 009 escorting him. Q wanted to question the absence of 007, but as soon as the door to the elevator opened, he found no need to.

 

James Bond stood in front of the elevator and as soon as Q's eyes fell on him, he felt his heart skip a beat and slow down immediately after, calm falling over him as it tended to whenever 007 was nearby. Today, the 00 agent was dressed in a more casual manner, wearing dark blue pair of tailored jeans along with a cream coloured sweater that clung to the definition of his muscled body and a dark brown blazer. A black coat was thrown over his arm left arm, but the effect overall was... _delicious,_ Q thought numbly.

 

“Did you collect all of his medications?” James asked and 006 rolled his eyes at the question and instead of answering it, walked towards where the car was parked at the elevator door. 009 simply patted James on the shoulder as she walked past him and Q gave him a little smile as he moved and he saw the odd aborted movement of James' hand before the other agent returned the smile and moved to help Q into the back seat of the car.

 

“Really? Are you seriously treating me like a critical asset?” Q found himself asking at the sitting arrangements and the way that the other two agents peeled off to their own cars. They were all different vehicles of course. It was easy to target a convoy of vehicles. 009 peeled out of the car park first, no doubt to play the decoy car, whether anyone is targeting them or not, and after James took off in a _Volvo_ out of all cars, 006 would follow in what appeared to be James Bond's personal Aston Martin.

 

“You are an asset Q.” James replied with a raised eyebrow that Q could see through the back mirror. 006 would no doubt play their back up vehicle, travelling close enough, but not close enough to attract attention. He would no doubt, throw the vehicle and himself between any danger that may come towards Q. It was ridiculous. Placing Q in the back seat, behind the driver was just another indication that they were taking the security thing way too seriously. The seat behind the driver was always the safest position for anyone to be. If there was a crash, than the driver was hit first and it lessened the impact for the passenger. If there was to be a bullet, then again, they had to get through the driver first. _Ridiculous._

 

“I'm the Quartermaster, not the freaking _Prime Minister_.” Q said in protest as he buckled the seatbelt and watched as James put the car in motion, but the look on James' face said it all. _He_ knew more state secrets than the damned Prime Minister.

 

*#*#*#*#*#*#*

 

00:15

2 December 2013

 

Sherlock Holmes walked through the familiar streets towards his brother's office and found his footsteps to be rather dragging. He was desperate to get home before John would realise that he was missing, but with the other man deeply asleep after indulging on more alcohol than the norm, he had no doubts that John would stay asleep for quite some time. Still, he found progress to be difficult.

 

He had to admit though, he was rather surprised that he was making the trip at all. It wasn't the norm and he knew that even if he didn't make the trip, nothing would change. But, John had been right, as he always was when it came to matters like this. And even if he wasn't, Sherlock found it near impossible to deny that man anything. It had been difficult as it was when he realised that the emotions he felt for the other man could be nothing other than love, but now? Now, Sherlock found himself willing to do just about anything that would bring approval in John's pain filled eyes. Anything at all.

 

Sherlock paused when he was outside of the familiar building and took a deep breath before he input the code to gain access to the front door. The heavy automated locks opened and the armoured door opened to admit him. Sherlock walked through and walked the familiar path until he was in front of Andrea's desk.

 

She didn't look surprised to see him, but then she rarely was surprised. She wasn't as clever as they were, but she was certainly was prepared if nothing else and there was no doubt that the CCTV on the streets were monitored and the moment that he had input the code, she probably had seen him and already warned his brother. Andrea nodded at him and indicated the door to her right.

 

He had never seen Andrea in action, but he could tell from the musculature of her body, though well hidden by the carefully crafted suits, that she was stronger than she looked and that she wore no less than four knives on her person and a firearm strapped to her lower back. Not that she would need any of that if she found that anyone attempting to enter Mycroft's office was a threat, Sherlock thought. There was probably a button, most likely right underneath where her mouse was located, that would allow her to throw down the barricade to Mycroft's office.

 

“You have 25 minutes.” Andrea informed him just as he was about to open the door and Sherlock scoffed as he walked through the door and looked at his brother. Off the diet again, Sherlock deduced. He had put on two pounds at the very least and if the bags under his eyes were any indication, he was using food and the extra energy to stay awake when he ought to sleep. Mycroft's body had always required a little more in terms of sustenance than Sherlock or Oscar's did and Mycroft used that instead of tea or nicotine patches to force himself awake.

 

Problems then, Sherlock noted. Problems in India, Sherlock surmised from the dark red emblem he could see peaking out from the mountain of paperwork piled on top. Considering the neat nature of the other piles, Mycroft had moved hastily to hide that particular one from Sherlock, no doubt aware that it would draw his attention straight to it. Something Mycroft possibly wanted to use him for then, Sherlock surmised before he sat down in front of his brother and for the first time, actually waited for his attention to drift to him.

 

“What a surprise. You, coming here, voluntarily without any threats of harm to either you finances or your person? I may have to note the date down.” Mycroft said and Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he did force himself to stay. He had promised John after all.

 

“How Mummy anyway?” Sherlock asked. He had received word that Mother was in town. It was impossible not to with her opening up the Downing Street residence, but he didn't want to see her. John needed him close by and Sherlock too felt the need for the closeness and whilst he knew that Mother would worry and that she wished to meet John, he knew that it wasn't the right time. Mother, as understanding as she appeared to be, would no doubt make an appearance, Sherlock surmised, but at least she would give it some time, he found himself hoping.

 

“Well and still up to her old games of course. She will be going back to Washington soon, I believe. It was made abundantly clear to me that her visit this time is mostly to check on our welfare.” Mycroft said drily and Sherlock felt that odd feeling settle in the pit of his stomach he was starting to recognise as guilt. He sighed and looked everywhere but Mycroft for a long moment before he garnered his courage.

 

“In addition to whatever nefarious plan she needs to concoct of course.” Sherlock added with the hint of rebellion that he still found difficult to pull when it came to their mother. After all, it was Mother that had influenced all three of them, Mycroft and Oscar more than himself, but she had shaped them and Sherlock had to admit, if he was ever honest with himself, that he didn't quite like the way he turned out. The chat he had with Mycroft before Christmas the year before just proved that point. Emotions. The lack of it made them stronger in some aspects but it definitely disadvantaged them in others and Sherlock wasn't quite sure if he could forgive Mother for that.

 

“Of course.” Mycroft conceded. If Mother had been back just to check on them, she would have done so and been out on the next flight. Despite what concerns she may have, Sherlock knew that it had little to do with the actual incident during which their lives were threatened. No, that was a part of the norm as far as their Mother was concerned. At the end of the day, the only reason she had come was because Oscar had been injured. That, apparently was the reminder their Mother required before she remembered that she had children to care for.

 

“As it is, I have been... made aware, shall we say, that I have been the cause of some pain and suffering to those around me. There are consequences, for the actions that I have taken or has failed to take.” Sherlock started and he had to admit, it was hard to actually say the words. Their relationship was an odd one. Sherlock often liked to pretend that Mycroft was his nemesis, but at the end of the day, he knew, as real as he knew what his eye colour was, that Mycroft did care for him and his welfare, even if he didn't quite know how to show it. And as dastardly as it might to actually admit it, Sherlock too cared. Actually admitting it was another thing though.

 

“Consequences. That is one way of putting it. I suppose your good doctor is the catalyst for such insights then?” Mycroft asked and Sherlock nodded curtly before he folded his hands in his lap and finally took a deep breath to get the words out as soon as possible.

 

“John has informed me that my apparent death may have caused pain not only to him and to others, but to you and to Oscar. I, no doubt have further apologies to make to Oscar for involving him in such a dangerous situation, but that blame, I fear, falls partly on you too.” Sherlock said and it wasn't much of an apology and he really ought not to share the blame, but it was clear enough in Mycroft's eyes and it was impossible to pull the punches. Mycroft raised an eyebrow but he seemed to accept it.

 

“Of course. I never should have asked Oscar to assist you. I should have sorted out the necessary personnel myself. However, what is done is done and misguided as your actions may have been, I understand the motivation behind them.” Mycroft said and for the first time, Sherlock had a feeling that his brother actually stood on the same page as him. It was an odd enough feeling and situation that Sherlock found himself rather... surprised.

 

“Apology accepted Sherlock and if you are planning to make a similar visit to Oscar, may I suggest that it occurs during actual daylight hours? Even if it means that you must leave that doctor of yours for a couple of hours?” Mycroft suggested and Sherlock felt himself tense at the words. Of course Mycroft knew, Sherlock thought. He would be able to see it in the way that Sherlock's shirt sleeve was crinkled under the weight of John's grip, and the way that Sherlock could not help but look at the clock above the fireplace as they talked.

 

“Good to see you aren't being all smug over it, Mycroft. You really ought to lay off the midnight snacks you know. You are undoing all your good work.” Sherlock shot back as a response as he got up and coat swirling behind him, left the office. He didn't acknowledge Andrea on the way out and as soon as he was back out onto the footpath, he hailed the cab that just happened to be going past.

 

Andrea had a hand in it, he supposed, but he didn't want to risk John waking up without him in the flat, to question it. In fact, if he could help it, he wanted to ensure that John would never wake up without him in bed. It was impractical of course, with John actually requiring normal hours of sleep and he not, and the Work taking up so much of Sherlock's time. Still, at least for a couple of weeks, Sherlock compromised. At least until John felt assured that Sherlock wouldn't vanish into thin air, time, Sherlock decided, would be John's and John's alone.

 

*#*#*#*#*#*#  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once again unto the breach! Sorry for the delay. Work and overtime and thus more work has equalled very little time spent in any activity that did not involve a bed and unconsciousness! Please do comment and kudo... it assures me that it is worth continuing!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are good vitamins for little writers... please do feed us.


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